Seducing the Horny Housewives: Complete series, #1–3 (Forbidden, fertile, interracial, cheating, pregnancy)

by Anya Aurelie

  Seducing the Horny Housewives

  The complete series — three stories in one!

  (Forbidden, fertile, interracial, cheating, pregnancy)

  #1

  #2

  #3

  By

  Anya Aurelie

  Copyright © 2014 by Anya Aurelie

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ***

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  Seducing the Horny Housewives, #1

  Marcus had been a personal trainer for a few years now, and some of those women were really getting him worked up, with their cleavage-baring tops and tight yoga pants showing off perfect round asses. Ten times a day he found himself imagining spreading open those sexy asses and plunging his cock deep into wet pussy.

  The gym where he worked catered to the wealthiest 1 percent, and early in the morning and again around five or six in the evening the entryway would be a constant stream of Armani suits and silk ties, upper management heading to work or just getting off. They’d come in for their half hour on the treadmill or inexpert weight-lifting before going home to their Stepford wives and perfect, blond children. Men — it was mostly men at those hours. In this part of town, the men worked and the women stayed home with the kids.

  But during the day, it was a whole different story. During the day, the housewives ruled the gym.

  “Let me show you a quick tip,” Marcus would say authoritatively, approaching a sexy young housewife at a weights station. He’d put one large, dark hand on either side of her tiny waist, then guide her body into position.

  “Do you feel the difference there? Now you’re using this muscle” — and he’d rub up and down her soft skin over the muscle in question — “instead of this muscle.”

  “Oh!” the housewife would say, looking up at him in appreciation. “Thank you! I do feel the difference.”

  And he’d want to tell them exactly how they could thank him. He’d want to say that if they really wanted to show their appreciation, they could follow him into the back and get down on their perfectly moisturized knees and start gagging on his thick black cock.

  Instead, he’d say, “No problem. I’m a personal trainer here, so if you ever want some more tips, you know where to find me.”

  He’d gained client after client that way. In his whole roster of personal training clients, only two were male. All the rest were hot, young, sculpted housewives.

  He was in heaven.

  The only problem was, he’d get off work every day horny as hell. He’d go back to his apartment and he didn’t even need any porn, would just let those Lycra-clad asses dance on the screen of his closed eyelids, would imagine the women stripping off their tight yoga pants inch by inch, showing him their glowing white skin and then their impeccably manicured cunts, glistening pink and so tight he imagined he’d hardly fit all the way in.

  And when he came, it was explosive. His cum would shoot out of him like a bullet, draining his balls thoroughly, deep inside those imaginary pussies, one after the next.

  ***

  Marcus and his coworker Andre stood near the entryway of the gym one way, waiting for their 10 o’clocks. The women were both running late, and the two ebony personal trainers stood out starkly in the sea of tiny white women with bouncing blonde hair and equally bouncing fake tits.

  “Man, do we have the best job in the world, or what?” Andre asked him, looking around at all the hotties.

  “You’re telling me,” Marcus said. He was staring at the obvious outline of bubble-butt ass cheeks on a woman adjusting her running shoes a few yards in front of him.

  Andre lowered his voice. “Don’t you wish you could just rip their clothes off and pound their pussies right there on the weight bench?”

  “Every day, man. Every day.”

  Their attention was caught then by two young women standing nearby and talking furtively. Their voices were low, but the men could make out every word they said.

  “…Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it,” one of the women was saying, shaking her blonde-highlighted head. “He doesn’t even fuck me anymore! He’s always ‘too busy,’ or ‘too tired,’ or too something else.”

  “I know, mine too!” the other woman said. “Too old is more like it. He can hardly even get it up anymore. I just want someone to —” She stopped abruptly as she realized that Marcus and Andre were staring at her. The other woman looked up too and flushed when she saw them.

  “Ladies,” Andre said, giving a friendly nod. They smiled in embarrassment and hurried away into the locker room, tittering with giggles.

  “That blonde one is a client of yours, isn’t she?” Marcus asked.

  “Sure is,” Andre said. “She sees me three times a week. Wish she’d talk to me about what’s going on in her bedroom like she talks to her friend.”

  “Sounds to me like she doesn’t want to do much talking,” Marcus said with a smirk. “I bet you could get into her pants real easy.”

  Andre looked at him. “No easier than you could get inside some of your clients’ pants.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Marcus said doubtfully. “They may like to flirt, but they’re all married.”

  “You heard the lady,” Andre said, more sure of himself now. “She’s married too, and her husband doesn’t fuck her. They both said it. They want to be fucked hard. They’re horny as shit, especially after a good sweat session like we give them.”

  Marcus laughed. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting —” Andre said, leaning in closer and talking in a conspiratorial tone — “that we make a little bet.”

  And right at that moment, right when Marcus was starting to get interested, their clients walked in the door, ready for their training session.

  “Sorry we’re late!” one of them said. “We were shopping and lost track of the time.”

  Andre clapped his hands together with a loud pop. “Let’s get started, then. I’m going to work you extra hard to make up for that time you lost.” He glanced back as he and his client walked away, and gave Marcus a quick wink.

  ***

  Throughout the session, Marcus couldn’t stop thinking about what Andre had said. Was he serious about wanting to make a bet? And if so, exactly what kind of bet was he suggesting? They could lose their jobs if they got caught doing anything more than training any of their clients. Hell, they’d probably lose their jobs if they slept with a woman at the gym who wasn’t a client. And if their husbands found out? They’d be slapped with a lawsuit faster than you could say “perfect white pussy.”

  Yet he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. His desire for these women had been bubbling below the surface for years, and now that Andre had come right out and said it, now that he’d heard those two women talking about wanting to be fucked and how their husbands weren’t doing it for them, he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was like he’d unleashed a
beast and now it was going to consume him if he didn’t indulge it.

  His hands guided his client, Colleen, resting on her hips, on her shoulders, running up and down the length of her arms to show her which muscles she should be targeting with each exercise. He touched her belly to remind her suck in and keep her abs tight, and when she did he felt the six-pack she’d been working on creating with him for the past few months. He wanted to see his handywork. He’d guided these women’s bodies into what they were today, and he’d never even gotten to enjoy the outcome of all his hard work.

  “Marcus?” Colleen’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Marcus asked. He was daydreaming hard, and he needed to get himself back to reality.

  “Yeah, I asked if I’m bringing the weights down too low again,” she said. “Last week you said to make smaller movements…”

  “Yes. Yes, sorry, let me watch you, baby.” The word slipped out before he even realized he was thinking it, but Colleen just smiled as though being called “baby” by her personal trainer were an everyday occurrence, something that made her feel special and appreciated but that wasn’t over the line. He was glad for that.

  Marcus watched as Colleen lifted the weights up over her head, then brought them down to her chest, almost smacking her huge tits on the way down.

  “Yep, you’re bringing them down too low,” he said. “Remember, you don’t want to go past the nipple line with them.” He tried not to be obvious about staring at Colleen’s breasts, but once he’d said the words “nipple line,” he couldn’t help but notice that her nipples were hard, outlined beneath her top and sports bra. He was sure he was blushing, and was glad his dark skin wouldn’t show it.

  She repeated the exercise.

  “Still too low,” he said.

  She did it again. He shook his head. “Nope, you just keep going when you need to stop. Control the weights at the bottom, just hold them there.” Then he added, “Look, here is where you need to be stopping.” He held his hand flat in front of her chest, parallel to the floor right at nipple level, careful not to touch her body.

  Colleen lifted the weights above her head once again.

  “Yeah, yeah, see you soon,” a deep voice boomed behind them, and before Marcus could move or warn Colleen, a big jock who was looking the other way toward his friend and wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going crashed into her from behind. Her thin body thrust forward, and Marcus’s first thought was to keep her from falling. He reached out to steady his client, but with his hands already inches away from her breasts, they were what he grabbed onto when she fell.

  It only lasted a split second, but both of his hands clasped full, round, firm tits, which were shoved into him as she stumbled forward.

  “Aw, man, sorry ’bout that,” the jock said before wandering away.

  Colleen caught herself and straightened up, setting the weights down on the bench beside them. “Asshole,” she murmured, glaring at the man’s back as he walked away.

  “Um —” Marcus began, but she looked at him and smiled before he’d said a word.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said sweetly. “I could’ve really hurt myself if you hadn’t been there to catch me.” He heard a little lilt to her voice at the word “catch,” and his eyes popped to her face to search it for clues.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’m sorry about…” but she waved the apology away.

  They continued on with their session as though nothing had happened, but Marcus’s mind was working overtime, spinning the situation around and around in his brain. Everything he’d ever assumed about the women he worked with was that they wanted to flirt, but that they wanted it to stop there. Yet Colleen had acted as though him touching her breasts was no big deal — in fact, she’d even hinted that she liked it. Was he misreading something here? Was he over-interpreting this?

  He shook his head to clear his mind. Yes, he was no doubt letting Andre get into his head and poisoning him to reality. Colleen would’ve fallen if he hadn’t been there to catch her. It wasn’t that she wanted him to grab her tits; it was just the least-bad option in that moment.

  He sure did have to concentrate on keeping his dick from getting hard for the rest of the session, though. Every time he remembered the soft pliability of her tits, the firm but Jello-like give, the hard nub of nipple in the center, he felt his cock moving, inflating, and he had to make a real effort to keep from going noticeably hard. Marcus hadn’t had this much trouble controlling his erections since he was in middle school.

  Somehow, they managed to finish the training session on a professional note, but he swore Colleen was smiling at him more than normal. He swore she was bending over deeper in front of him, showing him more cleavage. He swore she was sticking her ass out further during squats.

  And then he swore to himself that it was all in his imagination.

  After the session, he strode up to Andre, who was checking the schedule on the computer behind the reception desk.

  “Hey man, you really threw me off today with that talk about fucking the clients,” he said quietly.

  Andre chuckled. “Yeah, I saw you grabbing that lady’s tits. Real smooth, dude.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Marcus said defensively.

  “But it could be,” Andre said, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m serious, let’s make a bet.”

  “You know we can’t sleep with any of these women,” Marcus told him. “Be real.”

  “I am being real. I saw the way that woman looked at you after she felt your hands on her tits. I bet you could charm your way into her little tiny panties.” Andre looked him up and down. “Unless you’d rather just keep jerking off to them instead?”

  Marcus knew it was a bad idea. He knew the women could turn him down and then tell his boss. He knew their husbands could find out. He knew there were all sorts of risks they’d be taking.

  But he also knew that his poor cock couldn’t take much more. If he didn’t push inside a real, wet, warm cunt soon, he’d go crazy. His hand just wasn’t the same. His imagination just wasn’t enough anymore. Every day, all around him, beautiful young women showed off their curves, pranced around in skin-tight outfits that left little to the imagination. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What do you propose?” he asked Andre.

  A sly smile appeared on Andre’s face. “I’ll give you two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Marcus repeated. “I can’t seduce a client in two weeks.” That was way too fast to find out a client’s situation, gain her trust, and get into her pants.

  “Not a client,” Andre corrected. “As many clients as you can. At the end of two weeks, whoever has fucked more of the horny housewives from this gym wins.”

  “What?!” Marcus said. “No way.” But he already knew he was down for the challenge. He’d never turned down a bet in his life — and he’d never lost one either. He didn’t plan on starting now.

  “Two weeks,” Andre repeated.

  “All right, so let’s say I take your bet. What’s the prize?” Marcus asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

  Andre clicked through a few pages of the schedule on the computer in front of him. “Did you hear that Ruben just put in his two weeks’ notice?” Ruben was another of the personal trainers at their gym, though he only worked part-time.

  “No, he did?” Marcus asked in surprise. Then it dawned on him what Andre was about to say. Ruben’s personal training clients would have to be redistributed among the other trainers. Neither Marcus nor Andre currently had full client loads, while the other two full-time trainers did. That meant the two of them would likely be splitting most, if not all, of Ruben’s clients.